


Joke's on You

by Batsymomma11



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Batjokes, Batman is still batman, Blood and Gore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Harley is a guy, Joker is a woman, Kidnapping, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Other, Psychological Torture, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Torture, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 22:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Batman gets captured by the Joker and is submitted to gruesome torture where the endgame is death. Fortunately, he gets rescued in the nick of time, but the damage has already been done.





	Joke's on You

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for torture, violence, and strong sexual themes. Joker is blatantly sexual with Batman but nothing explicit occurs. Still, read carefully for possible triggers.   
> I've only switched Joker and Harley for the gender swap. Joker is female, Harley is male. The rest is the same. So obviously, this story is not canon.  
> I do not own DC or their characters. I do own the story.   
> Feel free to comment. Enjoy!

**_Joker_ **

            I keep his picture in my pocket. My right breast pocket where a watch, a hanky, and the fringe of a green poisoned blossom warm the silky innards. Come to think of it, there is little else I treasure more than this pocket. Or what the pocket signifies.

            Stuffing a hand into the folds of silk, I withdraw the pocket watch first, see that the time is rushing towards the witching hour. Plenty of time to be witchy yet. I grin, dropping the pearl backed time-piece into its place before I withdraw the photo it had nestled in. It’s creased with age, and worn down to the bone from my fingering the hazy image, but still, it brings a blip of excitement to my blood just as easily as it did the night I took it.

            Oh, the good ole’ days when a criminal could really do something bad and have the luxury to enjoy it.

            “Another night, another party, eh?” I ask the wind, hearing it answer with a blustery chortle. Feels like a rainy one, smudged with a dirty hand of smog. Makes my mouth water in excitement, the tingles of anticipation and dreamy intrigue swarm around me.

            He’s coming. Nearly here.

            My fingers dig into the photo unconsciously and I have to force myself to retract the manic grip, even though I feel my response to him down to the bone. When did the obsession begin? Where will it end? I don’t know. I don’t care. Laughter bubbles up from my middle and I smooth the creases from his face, licking my thumb to remove a black smudge off the glossy pale mouth in the photo. Pretty like an obsidian urn, my b-man was looking his very best that night, dressed per my fancy, in nothing but his mask. With just a hint…I smile, giving in to the urge to brush an edge of it on my lips…just a hint of ruby red. In all the places I like it.

            A shiver goes down my spine, making my stomach go tight.

            Nearly here.

            So close I can taste the tang of it in the air and sense him like a master does its slave. Is that what he is to me? A slave? Or am I slave and he the master?

            Mmmm. Madness, as you know, is like gravity, all it takes is a little push. It’s the conundrum of the century with a pretty black bastard’s bow. God, just the sensation of knowing _he_ exists and _he’s_ all mine…makes me tingly.

            I can hear him before I see him. The sound of sharp wind being sliced in two by a pair of bat’s wings reaches my ears a millisecond before Batman’s boots crush into gravel underfoot. I turn to greet him on my stiletto, eyes wide and mouth hitched in a painted smile. Deep ruby, with a hint of cherry for flavor of course. I was expecting company.

            “Joker.”

            “Batsy!” I gush, allowing myself a quick perusal of the caped demon eyeing me and the thrill I receive is more than enough payment for the work I put into tonight. I knew he’d come, as he cannot help himself but to rush off for Gotham, but still, seeing and believing are two very different things and what I’m seeing is…really rather pleasant.

            All height, long muscled legs clad in black armor where they meet a narrow waist, washboard abs and of course, a thickly muscled chest. A gal could never go wrong with those attributes. Broad shoulders, draped in the flowing fabric of the ever present Knight’s cape. Black of course. And who would ever dream of being a bat in anything else? It’s flattering to the eye and the figure. Those sightless white lensed eyes narrow on me as I preen under his viewing pleasure.

            “Where is it?”

            “Where is what Batsy?” I ask softly, curving so I might view him in a slow turn. He’s looking edgy tonight, all fire and no play. A pity, most especially when I love to play. Grinning, I blow him a kiss and shrug when he continues to stare.

             “I don’t have time for this Joker. Tell me where the bomb is and let’s be done with it. This can all end without bloodshed.”

            “Not exactly what I had in mind, sweets.”

            “I won’t hold back, Joker.”

            I circle back, hearing the crunch of gravel, feeling the knot in my stomach loosening. It’s all going swimmingly, like a pretty fat piranha at lunchtime.

            “Ooo, promise me it’ll be rough big boy.”

            “Joker…”

I love how menacing his voice turns, where the gruff darkness brushes like mink over my eardrums.

            “That’s right, I did say there would be a bomb, didn’t I? But there are lots of bombs you know. And anything could be misunderstood if given the chance, right? Besides, I didn’t really think you’d come if I said I simply wanted to see you.”

            His shoulders stiffen, the angle of his hips changing just enough I can see him contemplating his next move and the thrill of it darts like lightning bugs stuck in a can within me. He’s mine. Right in my cross hairs. Bang, bang, boy. All mine. Just like that night so many years back now, when it all began, I feel the fuzziness of the memory. All soft and wrinkly, like the photo in my pocket.

            I’ll make a new one.

            Tonight.

            “Quick question,” I hesitate, feeling the itch to check the time, “When the clock strikes twelve, do I get a little kiss?”

            “I’ve called Gordon. You’ve got no way out this time Joker. The jig is up. Go peacefully and I might put in a word for you with the DA.”

            I cock my head, biting my lip until I taste copper, “You would, wouldn’t you? But that isn’t really what I want. You see,” Batman’s moved a foot closer, his right hand poised over his thigh where a Taser snugs up nice and tight, the other hovers at his back.

 “I think I’d rather run.”

            I don’t need to think about it, not really when everything is going so according to plan, so I simply turn and burst into the throng of trees at my back. Saplings, grass and the hum of cicadas welcome me into their fold and I hardly notice how my ankles wobble with each step on my needle-like heels. I’m having too much fun.

            So much that I start to cackle, piercing and breaking the stillness of midnight air with the sound of it. Such a joyous sound. I make it an admirable fifty foot into the woods, a bit further than expected before Batman lands into my back like a freight train crushing me to the forest floor. Leather, armor and anger pummels into me and I revel in it, inhaling deeply when I feel the full of his front align with my back. Nothing like an angry man to get you in the mood for a party. And I’m about to throw, one hell of a party.

            I hear the first hit pop off of Batman’s head like a rock crashing into a bigger boulder and he goes instantly stiff, hands dropping the wrists he’d pinned. Popping out from under his weight, I’m laughing again when I stand and see who I’d been expecting at the start standing over Batman with a baseball bat in hand.

            Quinn. Reliable, affable, moldable Quinn. Everything a girl could want in a cute, ditsy package with enough hardy bones to handle a good beating. Nothing like grade A meat.

            “Right on time handsome.”

            “Thanks Puddin’.”

            Ah, Quinn, my lifetime experimental companion, loyal and sweet. Convenient for multiple uses. Including bludgeoning.

            A groan rumbles up from the black heap struggling to gain his footing in the moon drenched forest floor and I sigh, rolling my eyes at Quinn. “You didn’t hit hard enough. What have I told you about practicing your bashing of heads?”

            Quinn’s mouth flattens, bright blue eyes narrowing as he examines our catch. Without a word, he cracks off another loud snap with the unstained baseball bat in his hands, this time successfully sending our B-man sprawling proper into a pretty pile of leaves. No getting up from a homerun like that. At least not right this moment.

            “Got it all ready?”

            “Sure thing,” he chews thoughtfully on a wad of gum, piercings glinting in his left ear. “You sure do know how to pick ‘em Joker.”

            “Aw,” I grab Quinn by the ear, tugging his mouth crudely to mine. He tastes like bubble gum and anti-psychotics. Just what gets me going in the morning. “Thanks for being so supportive of this. Now go get my damn van.”

            Quinn laughs, a cheery sound to brighten my already warming mood. “Righty-o darlin’.”

 

**_Batman_ **

****

            There is a brief moment where I flicker into consciousness and think that I might see my bedroom’s walls. That Alfred will be coming shortly to offer me stern orders and a handful of aspirin. Then I remember. I remember it all with a ripe searing pain in my head and my heart falls flat at my toes.

            Light needles my vision into a watery film and I work to even my breathing as the throb of pain in my temples increases to the point of nausea. Study the surroundings. Find out where I am. Think, Bruce. My mind feels sluggish, drugged. I’ve no doubt I could be on something fairly narcotic, anything less just wouldn’t be Joker’s style.

            Even still, order finds its way into my thoughts and priorities begin to align themselves neatly into less frustrating stacks. Surroundings first. One step at a time.

             Unexpected and oddly Susie homemaker, I can see the shape of the stove from my position on what is clearly a bed but I can’t angle my head enough to get a glimpse of the whole kitchen. Curtains are drawn wide, a deep shade of blue with flowery wallpaper to match. Interior looks to be roughly the size of eight hundred square foot. Cabin size.

             A large pine sways outside the window, teasing the sun rays over my face and swishing the pane with soft hushes. I squint into the light, see a chickadee puff its chest and preen under a drop of what looks to be silvery dew on its feathers.

             It’s morning. And I’m still in the woods in a small cabin. Good. Great.

             The only indication that all is not amiss in this scenario, is that I am quite literally chained to the mattress by both ankles and wrists. That and perhaps the bouquet of flowers on the nightstand that is the color of snot green with a loud purple bow strung about the neck. At the base of the vase, nearly as an afterthought, she left a wax gum set of smiling lips. The kind little children usually get at the fair or for Christmas in their stockings.

              My eyes track back up to the flowers and get trapped. Not snot colored green. More like hulk green. A violent sort of green, full of promises she intends to keep.  

              Joker’s brand of poison blooms. Deadly enough to kill with one sniff and certainly ugly enough to put a bad taste in the mouth. I frown, struggling to gain my bearings as I test the strength of the chains. They hold firmly, as does the notion that I’m not getting out of this cabin very easily.

              “Batsy, batsy…would you like to play patsy?”

              I manage not to flinch at the sound of Joker’s voice but only just. Considering my position, spread eagle on a stripped mattress in a secluded cabin, I think it’s a fair assumption I’m about to hurt a bit. Good always comes at a price.

              “Nothin’ to say this morning? And I thought we were getting along so well. Maybe it’s time for a new playmate,” she muses, eyes roving over me as she enters the room in her usual choice of clothes. Gaudy doesn’t even begin to cover what sort of lingerie Joker prefers, but it certainly touches it. She wears her green bra and panties with a pinstripe purple suit jacket pinned together just under her bust line, the tails of which drape to just cover her buttocks. At her waist, a simple string of purple crystals glint just above her belly button before dipping to kiss the top of her lacy green underwear. To complete the whore gone barney look, she wears fishnets dazzled up in winking smiles of green and purple with a pair of her do-me pumps.

             To look at Joker is to feel both insanely overwhelmed by the sight of so much skin and sparkle and then feel utterly nauseous at the realization of how much crazy was needed to make it.

             When she gets close enough to smell the scent of bubble gum and cheap children’s raspberry shampoo on her skin, my hands fist without consent and I find myself arching away from her searching mouth. Even still, Joker’s lips are hot on my cheek and equally unsettling as she takes her time in saying hello.

             “I’ve missed you.”

             “I haven’t missed you,” I grit out, tempted to head butt her when she remains within spitting distance.

             “Sure you have. It’s only been four years, hasn’t it? Since we last talked I lost count. Been too busy thinking of how I might punish you for what you did to me.”

             “You belonged in Arkham. Just like you do now.”

             She smiles, ruby red lips curving brilliantly into a wide grin on her nearly albino skin. A treacherous and erotic ghost with a penchant for evil. “I can’t disagree darling, but I’ll have you know, I’ve been really looking forward to this. It feels like Christmas! And you’re the pretty black package all tied up in irons,” she stops, resting a hand over my throat, “Too bad you didn’t make the nice list.”

             It doesn’t seem prudent to speak just now, not when she has the end of her favorite switchblade digging into my ribs. So we remain like this, eyes locked, breaths labored until she stands abruptly and begins to pace the room in slow circles. I didn’t realize I’d been biting my tongue, not until I taste the spread of warm acid in my throat. It joins the slowly building sensation of something as dark and twisted as this woman. Fear. No amount of training, of denial or full disclosure can stop the human instinct to fear what is evil. And though Batman may fear nothing, Bruce Wayne is just a man. A man whose instincts have risen to full alert and now strain against the armor slick with sweat.

            I have to remember that there is an end game in all of this. Regardless of how this plays out, Joker will lose. As she always does. And this time, she’ll rot in Arkham for a hell of a lot longer than four years.  

            “Remember, remember, the fifth of November…why should we care about a silly day like that?” she asks to no one in particular, stopping at a small table in the far corner of the room where a black satchel and a pitcher of red liquid sit. I hadn’t noticed it before. “Ah,” she purrs the word, dipping a hand into her right breast pocket to remove a small square of paper. “Do _you_ remember?”

            I don’t bother straining to see the photograph, not when I know Joker won’t be able to bear not seeing my reaction, so I wait until she clicks back to my side to swirl the faded snapshot in front of my gaze. But I am unprepared for the blinding sensation of humiliation and disgust that fills me when I do see it. I can’t tear my fucking eyes away from it.

            Me. Batman. Wearing nothing but the mask. But even then, my face is contorted in pain, with blood dripping down my chin onto my bare chest in thick rivulets. I’m strung up like a prize turkey from the ceiling, toes just brushing the filthy floor where rats piss and goodness goes to die. Mine died that day.

             So young and full of ambition. Of hopes to rehabilitate the wild and wanton Joker. I’d thought she was in need of a strong guiding force and a padded cell, but by the end of my week in her custody, I’d realized she only needed the needle and a chair with restraints. Joker isn’t fixable. She’s hardly classifiable as human.

              My teeth audibly click together when I feel the flashes of unwanted memories tear through me and I’m forced to focus on my breathing to keep the vomit from coming, because it desperately wants to.

              My worst moment. The moment I’d wondered if dying would be better. The moment that had cost me six months of working the streets and a string of physical therapy sessions to regain mobility in my left knee and torn rotator cuffs. I wish I’d lost count of the stitches, but I can still remember lying in that hospital bed, feeling small and thin as parchment hearing the doctor tell me I had to have two hundred and eight stitches from the various cuts inflicted. We’d done our best to keep my injuries under wraps from the public, but in truth, had finally managed to come out with a leaked car accident as excuse for my lack of appearances.

              I level my gaze at Joker and feel the corner of my mouth hitch up though it feels about as weak as my stomach. “Don’t remember that. Guess it wasn’t that memorable.”

              A hint of madness flares in her ocher gaze and she wobbles the photo a second time, gripping my throat again, this time much tighter. The angrier she becomes the more careless she is. “Now don’t be rude Batsy.”

              The sun moves from behind a cloud, flits playfully at the corners of the curtains and then spears across her pale face. Haunted. That’s what she is. Lost and mad.

              Stuffing the picture back into her pocket, she tips her head to the ceiling and laughs a moment, her thoughts flickering back forth between past and present as easily as a change of clothes.

              “Do you know what Machiavelli said?”

               Her fingers tighten and I breathe carefully, focusing on her painted mouth as she plays with the edge of my mask, nails sharp like claws on my skin.

               “He said, ‘People should either be caressed or crushed. If you do them minor damage; they will get their revenge. But if you cripple them, there is nothing they can do. If you need to injure someone, do it in such a way, that you do not have to fear their vengeance.’ Wise, don’t you think?” she’s cackling now, nails cutting moons into my chin as she tugs it forward.

               “That’s where we went wrong I think…you can’t seem to crush me and I…well, I simply can’t decide what to do with you. Catch you. Crush you. Kill you. All sounds so amazing that I’m wound tight as a top over it,” she sighs, releasing me as quickly as she took hold of me, “Thankfully, this time, I’ve found a way to do all of it.”

               “You’ll kill me then?”

               She lifts a brow, “If you scream nicely, Mummy might give it to you quickly,” laughing, Joker tosses her electric green hair over a shoulder, “Who am I kidding? No I won’t.”

              “And you plan on doing it here Joker? In the woods where no one can see and no one can hear? Not much of a challenge.”

               Joker licks her lips, hooking her thumbs in the top of her underwear. “Challenge? Who said anything about a challenge? I play for keeps and I always, always cheat.”

 

**_Joker_ **

****

            It doesn’t take long for him to fall back into oblivion, not with the poison tucked away on my nails and I sigh with pleasure when I see Batman go slack on the mattress. A man ruled by laws but with none to save him. It makes the wicked streak within me glow with happiness to think it.

            Striding back to the bed, I itch to begin the process and have to force myself to slow down. These moments won’t last forever and there’s no need to rush them. Not when I’ve decided that this is the end of Batman.

            “You want him stripped now Joker?”

            I blink up and find Quinn standing in the doorway, typical leather black and red jacket draped over his shoulders with a pair of low slung black jeans. It brings a flit of happiness to my middle to know that he belongs to me; heart, mind and soul.

            I trace the outline of Batman’s lips with my pointer finger, heart speeding at the thought of seeing what truly lies beneath the mask and nearly do the honors that moment. Just to see if he’s as exciting without the black piece separating us as he’s been since the moment I saw him. As righteous and pious as he likes to make himself out to be. But inside, truly inside, I know he’s laughing with me. He can find the funnier side of life if I just helped him. If I made him…

            “Know this my sweet,” I turn a sharp eye on Quinn as he offers me the keys to the irons on B-man’s wrists and ankles, “The death of Batman must be nothing less than a masterpiece.”

            “Whatever you say Puddin’.”

            I laugh, “Ain’t that right. Come on, let’s get him ready for the show. He’ll want to look his best I’m sure.”

            Quinn smiles, withdrawing a serrated knife from his waistband, “I got this.”

 

             When I walk into the breezy draft of air that slicks the lower floors, it feels like a mother’s chilly comforting fingers. I don’t really recall her face, but I do wonder how she fares…if at all.

            The lights are a sickly yellow this deep in the ground and though I feel like a well-dressed mole, rather than a criminal when I whisk past empty corridors and doorways, I glide effortlessly in the direction of my favorite room.

            We’ve been here before.

            Four years, three days, eight hours and twenty-seven minutes. Counting seconds would be a bit too silly, even for me. No, not even then. Fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven…I stop at the set of double doors dressed in silver doubloons and festive purple splashes of color. My heart trips up to a gallop and I hesitate outside, unsure of why I’m feeling a bit of regret tickle in the back of my throat.

            I should feel victorious in this moment. No, outrageously rich and successful at having captured the Bat again so I might exact my final, sweet and luscious symphony of revenge upon him. I’ll finally see his face…I’ll be the last person he sees before the light leaves his eyes. I’ll make him taste desperation, bring him to the edge and laugh when I finally end us both.

            A fist wraps about my middle and I bite my lip as anticipation welcomes me anew. It’s coming back in waves. Always does. The dribbles of sanity I’m cursed with don’t play well with my otherwise psychotic nature. And still, it’s more than that, isn’t it? More than the game ending. More than all of that. I’m not a monster. I’m just ahead of the curve.

            When I look into Batman’s eyes, will I see what I have been looking for all these years? And an even better question, does it matter when I’ve chosen him for this glorious unveiling? I tap my nails on the metal doors, hear the sound of muffled feet moving as Quinn is likely finishing up my final requests and find it doesn’t soothe me.

            Frowning, I push open the doors to the lowest floor of the bunker and am blistered to the spot at the magical sight of an old memory come to fruition once more. The picture in my breast pocket feels as though it might burn me to the skin and I resist the urge to retrieve it so I might compare the differences between the man draped carelessly on the table in front of me and the one so close to my pounding pulse.

            “Have you finished yet Quinny?”

            Quinn’s head bobs up from behind a thick panel of computers previously used for bomb blueprints and strategy meetings with a wicked smile. “Just plugging in the last deal. Should have everything ready to go.”

            “Did you get my bag?”

            “Of course. Checked every piece.”

            I run my tongue along my teeth, closing in on Batman’s very naked and very much limp form. He should be out another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Enough time I suppose to begin.

            “And did you remember what I said?”

            He stops, confusion wrinkling his pretty brow. “Whatcha mean Joker?”

            “What do I mean?” I’m aware of the protective snarl that warps my voice. Batman is mine. Mine alone.

            Quinn stares at me, waits a beat and then begins moving from around the control panel.

            “You want me to leave.”

            I smile, closing my eyes as the prospect of alone time with B-man begins to wind around my middle calming that razor sharp edge. “Just for a bit darling. Until I get reacquainted. Then you can come back and help. Just like we talked about.”

            “But…”

            “No buts. I hate those. Well, unless you’ve got a particularly tasty one,” I wrinkle my nose, feeling my lightness returning, “Give me some sugar now and be on your way.”

            Quinn, nearly my exact height in these shoes, comes toe to toe with me to press a chaste kiss to my mouth that I immediately return, in equal measures of distance. I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment. And we both know it. Patting him on the cheek, I turn and give him my back.

            “Run along.”

            “Joker…you sure…”

            I clench my jaw, “I said get out. Don’t make me regret you coming this far.”

            The doors swish close at my back a moment later and when they do, I see Batman’s right hand twitch. My smile spreads slow as molasses, thick with delight when I step to his side. And his body goes rigid when he sees me. I’ve nothing to do but laugh outright at how wonderfully this is going. It’s a funny world we live in.

           

**_Batman_ **

****

            It is the second time I wake to blinding light.

            Only this time, Joker stands at my side like a hopeful physician, blessedly happy that her patient has recovered. I know it to be the exact opposite and the realization slams into my middle like a freighter.

            “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey. Except, you look a bit overdone my sweet,” she grins pleasantly, wide red smile looking outlandishly garish as she leans into the table to trace a finger down my chest.

            My bare chest.

            I should have known. Hell, she made it fairly clear this was to be a reckoning for forcing her into Arkham after our last encounter. Even still, nausea rushes to the surface and I swallow thickly to keep the spinning in my head from taking over. I have to think.

The finger she was tracing with stops at my belly button and gives a playful jab.

            Unable to stop it, my gaze flashes to Joker’s and my mind hazily tries to compute the data filtering in with sluggish clarity. I’m still here. Gosh damn it, why am I still here? The tracker should have lead them here hours ago. Alfred should have given the coordinates to Gordon. It should all be over and done with. No cigar, no explosive gun with a bang sign dangling on the end.

            “Nothing to say? Cat got your tongue?” she purses her lips, “Oh wait, you’ve had that problem before haven’t you? How is your little feline playmate these days anyway? Still whoring herself out to whatever cape she can find?”

            “Careful Joker,” I hiss, sounding like glass is imbedded in my vocal chords, “You sound a bit jealous.”

            “Of her?” she shrugs, “Oh no. Never. Not really. Oh,” her finger skims along the base of my stomach and moves to trace a hip bone with bruising force, “I suppose yes. I’m jealous. I’m a one-man kind of woman.”

            “Does Quinn know that?”

            “My, my…full of sass tonight. Excellent. Should make things more of a challenge.”

             I let my eyes drift back to the blinding light and I stare up into it until they water.

            Thirty-six hours. No rescue. No sting operation. It’s wrong. It’s fucking wrong and I can’t get my gosh damn mind around it.

            “It’s different this time, isn’t it?” she muses, striding away from me to speak from the other side of the room. Gooseflesh rises like little sentinels on my bare skin and I resist the urge to shudder when I hear the sound of heavy metal objects clinking as they’re moved. She’s Joker. It’s nothing new. Nothing different than all the other times she and I have had run-ins.

            But it is different…I can’t lie to myself and say it’s not. She’s right. Connected as we’ve always been by some strange tether, she and I have always known that it would have to end. One would kill the other. Or might kill each other. Thoughts trip over themselves, fumble for a cohesive meaning and I find myself jerking back into the room abruptly when Joker’s lips are suddenly at my toes. She laughs when I instinctively curl them and my hands strain on the chains.

            “What are you doing Joker?”

            “I’m playing. What are you doing?”

            I don’t bother answering. Not when I know she’ll only get more pleasure out of this than necessary. Her mouth is disturbingly hot when it leisurely works on my right foot and I feel needles of pressure, fear I realize, form in my gut when she reaches my pinky toe, circling it with her tongue and a husky laugh.

            “Such a shame really. When the little pig ran all the way home, do you think it knew how very silly the notion was to do so? I mean, I was just going to chase it down with a cleaver anyways.”

            Pain explodes, hissing, crackling, fiery bits of it in my foot and I have to muffle the urge to cry out when I feel bone separate from bone with a meaty sucking sound. She took my toe. My toe is just…gone.

            “Not gonna squeal piggy?”

            I grit my teeth, determination sweeping over me as blood heats and swells to slick my remaining toes. She can take every gosh damn one of my toes, but I’m sure as hell not going to scream for her. We both know it takes a lot more to do that. Even then, not sure after four years if such methods will break me as they did before. A lot has changed.

            A lot hasn’t.

            Three toes later and sweat coats me like a second skin. I’m panting through the waves of pain, working to control the rapid thrum of my pulse and the fluttery edges of consciousness which are beginning to elude me.

            “Let’s move on.”

            Thank God.

            Joker’s heels click a hollow tune over to that bag of goodies she carries and stops. I can’t make my head turn to watch. I can’t do much else save focus on staying alert. There’s a sickening part of me that wonders if things might get worse if I were to drop out altogether. What might I wake up to find missing?

            “—I’ve been talking and I don’t think you’re listening. Now that’s rude.”

            I blink up at the ghoulish face above me and stare sightlessly at her. Joker purses her lips, then runs a finger down the bridge of my nose before ending at my lips. Here, she stops, pinches my bottom lip with her needle sharp nails and begins to hum ‘It’s A Small World After All’.

            “You have very pretty teeth. Though, a few minor adjustments are needed,” she starts cackling, hard enough I flinch when droplets of spit land on my chin and neck. “Hold still darling. Doctor knows best.”

            The first wave of pain is wrenching. Enough so I instantly feel bile rise up and threaten but the second, is like floating on a cloud of crystal meth and razor blades. I cough when blood pours down my throat, gagging as I taste the differing flavor of coppery blood and whatever Joker just jabbed into my gums. I’m fairly certain I just lost one of my molars. A distant and strange part of myself recognizes that she could have gone for an incisor or a canine, both of which I imagine would look far worse than a molar.

            I come incredibly close to laughing at such obviously drug induced thoughts and have to choke it down morbidly when Joker latches onto another molar and has a go at removing that one as well. This one takes a few more tries than the previous and I can feel her growing agitated by the time it rips loose.

            My head is swimming in whatever she’s given me when it does.

            Cottony, downy, fluff is cushioning me. Making her face look all warm and sweet. She even has two heads instead of one to glower down at me with.

            “Liking what I gave you, eh?”

            “Dunno.”

            “Hmmm. You are. Probably a bit too much. Doesn’t matter,” she tosses the pliers onto the ground. “I’m bored with that. I want to get really crazy now.”

            “Go ahead,” I mumble, testing the empty sockets in the back of my mouth with my tongue. When did she take four teeth? I only remember the two…She took my transmitter. The one that hasn’t worked like it damn well should have.

            I shake my head, suddenly desperate to clear it but only manage to make things worse. Instead of cotton, it’s more like I’m underwater. Waves rush over me, tumbling with white light and slippery wet seaweed to tug at my toes. No…that’s blood. Shit. Focus, Bruce. Focus...something is crawling on my stomach.

            “Joker?” I ask sluggishly, unaware of how my breath has become labored and my thoughts like railroading trains. “Is that you?”

            It kind of tickles. And then, maybe it doesn’t. I’m not sure. I can’t pick my head up to look because it feels as heavy as a few hundred pounds of steel. I’m so limp, so utterly useless I can’t even turn my head to find her and by the time I do manage to catch a glimpse of purple and green in my periphery, I can feel that thing reach my right hip and stop.

            “Do you know what it’s like to be eaten from the inside out?”

            I know she’s speaking to me, but it’s more like the world is spinning and her voice is a warble over the wind.

            “No.” My mouth is a desert. And that creature is starting to move again, this time back up, little claws digging into the flesh. Burning it. It’s burning me. Fuck, it’s hot.

            “I can make it eat your heart.”

            “No,” I say again, knowing it’s not true but not being able to make it compute. Fear toxin? Was that what was in the drug? Something to make me afraid? It’s working. Hell, it’s working really damn well because I can feel that creature burrowing under my skin to lay its eggs. “No. It’s not true.”

            “Yes it is,” she muses, touching her lips to my mouth, licking a trail down my chin to the hollow of my throat where blood is sticky and my pulse throbs.

            “It’s not.”

            “Feel it digging. It’s burning you up. Tearing into your belly where it will eat the flesh and then work up into your chest.”

            “Oh God.”

            Joker laughs, a triumphant and giddy one, “Oh yes.”

            “It’s not real,” I shake my head, fighting the drug, fighting her. I can do it. I can fight it with my mind, like all the other times. I _am_ stronger than her. I will win.

            I only see the flash of silver once before I feel it.

            Slicing through flesh as easily as it does the delusion, I know the exact point the blade ends in my side and I gasp with pain as it remains there. Hesitant, baiting, laughing at me.

            Reality snaps in like a fist in the balls severing the last bit of drug into flimsy bits. But clarity comes at a price and it comes with the pain. I cough at the intrusion, straining away from that fiery blade digging mercilessly into flesh.

            “Thought you could wait me out, did you?” she hisses, turning the angle of the blade, aiming the tip at my spleen. One nick and she’ll kill me. No matter how she might wish to draw this out. I’ll die. I’m just a man. Just one man…why haven’t they come? Why didn’t it work?

            The blade rips back out and then immediately finds purchase in my thigh of which, I’m ridiculously grateful. I’ve lost all feeling in that particular spot and this small mercy allows me the hesitation to catch my breath.

            “Joker. You don’t want to do this.”

            “Yes I do. I really, really do.”

           

**_Joker_ **

****

            He’s beautiful.

            Even better than the first time.

            Muscles drenched in sweat, quivering like a fresh babe from the womb. Dashed in glorious smears of dark red blood. Oh the depravity! The glorious injustice of it. The chaos. It feeds me. My bread and butter to the crazy that lives within and I revel in it.

            Smearing a hand into the blood oozing over his thigh, I jerk out my switchblade and go for a spot much nearer B-man’s man bits, to which I gain a satisfactory groan. No scream. Just a groan and yet, it makes my insides turn to mush and my head feel light.

            I never want it to end.

            Somehow, in these last four years, his body has become even more resilient and thus, makes the process of shredding him as a man even better than I could have ever hoped. He’ll be so bloodied that the coroner won’t be able to tell what he was, let alone, that he was Batman. Hah.

            Except me, I’ll know.

            I’ll always know.

            I’ve memorized the curves and bumps. The pretty dip of his hips and the scars I left behind. I have him imprinted in here. My head.

            My knife flutters up, teases his navel and then comes to rest on a patch of ribs I viscerally remember flaying. The idea pleases me immensely to do it again.  

            “Ready to scream yet?”

            “No.”

            “Do you want it to end?”

            His head lolls to the side, exhaustion clinging so strongly to him I can smell it. Like the smell of death after a kill which stains the air with dark roses. Only this smell is more like an orange blossom. Full of promise and whetting to the appetite. Just what I could use about now.

            “Maybe we should take a break.”

            “You…You…”

            I blink, stepping closer so I might hear Batman’s pitiful whisper and manage to draw an ear near his lips. They are ruby red like mine now, enticing and warm. Perfect for kissing and so I do just that. Of course, he doesn’t respond to me, though a small part of me wishes he would, if only for a second. Even so, I still find my heart jump into my ribs at the taste of man and blood mixing in my mouth. His lips are fuller than Quinn’s. Darker tasting too. Much more suited to mine.

            I suppose I’m a bit too caught up in the moment because just as the edges of my vision grow hazy in pleasure, I feel Batman’s teeth clamp down on my upper lip and bite. My skin splits like a grape and I let out a gasp of surprise…and then of course pure excitement. Quinn would never dare to do such a thing. Thrilling. It’s so very thrilling.  

            But he would.

            Jerking back, I stare down at Batman’s mutinous mouth, now drenched in my own blood and laugh outright. “I knew you’d like it rough.”

            “Fuck you,” he growls.

            “Only if you promise to watch.”

            More anger, more rebellion to mark his handsome jaw. And suddenly, I can’t wait. I can’t wait another moment. I have to see him. Have to see his face, once and for all.

            Blood simmering, heart pounding, I don’t hesitate until my fingertips are on the edge of the mask and Batman’s hiss of pain is sizzling my ears. Then I stop thinking and resort to my baser instincts. I am after all, first and foremost, a clown.

 

**_Bruce_ **

****

            She laughs.

            God, she laughs forever. Naked as the day I entered the world, drenched in blood and sweat with not even my mask to cover me from her and she just laughs. Joker tips back her head and cackles like the town crier on a drunken binge and I do nothing but stare at her and shake.

            “If I weren’t crazy, I’d be insane!”

            Another round of laughter echoes hollowly about us and I begin to see blackness threaten my vision. I’ve lost the will to care.

            When she finally catches her breath, when it all comes to an abrupt and fatal end, Joker straightens and smooths both hands through her long green hair with a sigh. She begins pacing away from me, heels clicking, voice distant and strangely detached.

            “I must admit, it’s sadly anti-climactic. Behind all the sturm and bat-o-rangs, you’re just a little boy in a playsuit, crying for mommy and daddy,” her gaze catches mine when she reaches the far end of the table. Her eyes look charcoal rather than brown. “Bruce Wayne.”

            Something like a massive weight seems to fall like an anvil on my chest and I feel the back of my eyes begin to burn. I realize they’re tears but feel too distracted and slow to do much but savagely stop them.

            “You don’t have to do this Joker.”

            “Kill you, you mean?”

            “Yes,” I gasp, working to fill my lungs properly. I don’t know which feels worse; the physical wounds inflicted or the sensation of losing something vital and key from my chest. My identity has always belonged to me, above all else. With it out, with the very knowledge of who I am so nakedly barred, terror seems to clog every orifice of my body until I can’t think straight. I can’t…I can’t breathe.

            “Will you scream for me now, Bruce? Now that I know who you are?”

            I open my mouth to answer, to say no, then close it. I’m not sure what to do. I’m not sure what she’ll do with what she now knows. Who she’ll kill next.

            Alfred. My God, Alfred. Damien. My son.

            “Will you…do what I want?”

            I blink with sandpaper eyes up to her looming face, so very white and macabre, so harsh in this lighting. “What do you want?”

            “I think you can guess.”

            “Kill me then.”

            “More.”

            I swallow thickly, hear the chains thud heavily on the table when my limbs start trembling of their own accord again. I’m fairly certain that I’m in shock. A man cannot be stabbed so many times, lose toes and teeth without suffering some sort of system failure. If she doesn’t kill me soon, my body will take the matter out of her hands. And it will leave everything and everyone that I love vulnerable.

            “What will you give me if I do?”

            We both know what she wants. What she’s always wanted. Though any sort of a ‘performance’ feels a bit of an overreach at this point. I’ll likely die mid-act. Good. I’ll take her with me. Break her neck. Smother her when my hands are free.

            The black thoughts fill me with irrational hope.

            That’s not who Batman is.

            I’m not Batman.

I’m Bruce. Bruce is lying here. Bruce is dying. Bruce is going to kill her and finish this. No one is coming for me.

            “You want promises?” she laughs, moving to wrap a hand over my throat, to test my strength as she does so. The pressure increases until I don’t draw any breath and I pray it doesn’t end now before I can end her.

            “You think you’re any better than me? That you would have done differently. Hah,” she hisses into my face, nose brushing mine as her eyes go mad, “All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That’s how far the rest of the world is from where I am. Just one bad day.”

            “You’re wrong.”

            Her grip tightens. Waits a beat and then loosens in afterthought.

            “I’m not Bruce. Not really,” Joker’s voice goes soft, gentle even and she does as I thought she might. She reaches for the chains holding me down and begins to loosen them. My chance is coming.

            “Can I tell you something Batsy?”

            I gasp when I’m freed and I hit the floor in a bloody heap. Head singing, body screaming, I try to stand and find that Joker has better ideas. One stiletto to the chin later and I’m swimming in darkness for what feels like seconds, but is clearly more like minutes.

            Hazy and sluggish, I find myself sitting up in a different room. It looks like a morgue.

            Stainless steel. Glossed and disinfected. With the sickening smell of death.

            I’m sitting in the center of an exam table, draped in a sheet that’s stained with blood from my seeping wounds and at the end of the table my feet stick out the bottom to display the uncanny sight of a toe tag marking me as Batsy.

            I stare for several long minutes, unable to make my mind function, to think past the frigid cold of the space, until I hear Joker’s laugh flicker off the walls in the hall with the very male sound of Quinn beside her.

            The doors swing open and I stare bewildered at the pair when they enter wearing nothing but their smiles. Quite literally nothing. Suddenly, I feel sick enough to risk retching all over myself.  

            “It’s time Bruce.”

            “Time for what?” Am I dead? Is this hell?

            “For your end of the promise.”

            “My end,” I whisper, eyes fluttering to Quinn’s then back to Joker’s. The air goes sharper with reality and I shake my head. “I don’t…I don’t think…”

            “Yes,” Joker chuckles, “Yes you do. You can. It’s my final joke and you’re going to be a part of it. Just as I planned.”

            “Wait,” I gasp when Quinn grabs my arm and jerks hard enough to spill me onto the floor. Ice cold cements greets me and I shiver at once, the very last slices of adrenaline I might have had coming back to play. I can’t let it end like this. When she’s through with me, she’ll kill me. Maybe Quinn too.

            I can’t let that happen.

           “What did you want to…to tell me earlier?”

           Joker frowns, “I did mention something didn’t I? Hmmm,” Quinn begins pulling and helpless to stop him, I let myself be dragged by a man half my size in the direction of the stainless steel doors. To God knows where. Struggling to keep her focused, I try again, allowing the sounds of whimpering to break the seal of my mouth, not particularly a hardship, so she might pause to enjoy it. It works. As I suspected it would and she hesitates in the hall, stopping Quinn with an arm.

          “Perhaps a little show and tell first then.”

           Quinn’s frown makes him look younger than Joker. Much too young. Innocent.

          “I had a dream last night and I thought I should tell you about it. Might help you…get in the mood.”

           Revulsion tickles my gut and I nod slowly, waiting for her to tell it. To become distracted enough I can break loose from Quinn and attack. With little more than skin on any of us, I might have enough of a surprise to overpower her. Her at the very least. I can talk Quinn out of the rest. Maybe.

          “In my dream, the world had suffered a terrible disaster. A black haze had shut out the sun and the darkness was alive with moans and screams of the wounded people. Suddenly, a small light glowed. A candle flickered into life, a symbol of hope for millions. A single tiny candle, shining in the ugly dark,” she hesitates, looks down at me and smiles whimsically, “I laughed and blew it out.”

           She turns to Quinn, nods sharply at him and I yelp when one of his hands fists in my hair to shove me into the open room waiting for us.

           Blackness quite literally swallows us whole into her gaping mouth.

 

**_Joker_ **

****

“The final act. The final bit of my show is finally here!” I spin in a slow circle, taking in the stage lights that glimmer amidst a bed of smiling teeth and electric green feathers. Just how I thought to end it all. Draped in men and smiles. Draped in Batman and his blood.

            We seem to take in the setting as one, eyes staring fixedly at the bed, feathers and teeth. My mouth splits wide into a grin and I feel the laughter bubble up from my toes, into my chest and then out.

            “Do you see now Batsy? Do you see the funny side of life yet?”

            The face I can hardly recognize as my prize blinks up at me in the color of curdled cream. He looks waxen and doll-like…perfect, actually. Perfectly as he should for this final ending. “Quinn?”

            My lanky companion seems to understand without my prompting and he finishes dragging Batman to the mattress. No bedframe or frills, just a mattress I picked up on wholesale from a specialized warehouse. Arkham has fabulous sales when you’re patient and I hardly notice the splotches of vomit or piss. Who doesn’t like a bit of potpourri to set the mood?

            Both men fall, rather than gracefully land into the cushioning and feathers spew up and around, like a giant cyclone. I’m so giddy now, I can feel the bubbling sizzle of it, peeling back my skin and flooding my muscles.

           “Like this Joker?” Quinn asks me, stretching one of Batman’s wrists upwards to link it to the handcuffs we’d installed. I nod, propping both hands on my hips to watch the process. Quinn is as efficient as ever and has Batsy secured to one corner. We don’t want anything too easy. I savor the idea of the great Bat giving me one last fight, though he knows death is right at the corner, begging to come in. As am I.

            Who will he give in to first?

           “You really want to share me with Quinn, Joker?”

            I blink down at Batman, sparing him a delicate once-over. “Not exactly. I promised to let him have a turn. I find anticipation is better when savored,” I giggle again, feeling gooseflesh rise on my arms when those clear cerulean eyes meet mine in a hard stare. I find I like the blue even better than white lenses.

            Here, I can make him see. See what I see. What I’ve always wanted.

            “On your marks,” I snap, getting Quinn’s immediate attention, “Get set,” I gesture emphatically with both hands, my nails glistening in technicolor brilliance under the spotlight above us. I’ve never liked my snowy white skin more than under a spotlight. “Go.”

             The scramble for control is immediate and I snap my eyes closed and spin in a circle to keep from joining in. My insides flutter anxiously, hearing the distinct sound of flesh being hit, of man fighting man. I wonder who will win. If Quinn will live beyond these next moments? Beyond the next seconds if he fails me?

             “Joker!”

             As fast as my high surges in my veins, it snaps beneath a sweltering string of rage. I’ve heard that tone before. I’ve seen it. Felt it. And I whirl towards the mattress with a scream of rage.

             Batman has Quinn with the one arm I thought to leave loose. If there is no danger, then why even bother to play? But I see now, perhaps I had a bit too much trust in Quinn. Because he’s turning blue beneath that steel-like grip, squirming like a bug under the heel of a shoe. It’s fascinating to watch. Fascinating to see the ripple of muscle from Batman’s arm and shoulder as his right hip opens from twisting and blood courses into blood.

             “Free me, or he dies.”

             “You’d kill him?” I ask mildly, running my tongue over my teeth. Is it sympathy I feel tugging at my middle, or pure excitement? I’ve lost the ability to tell.

             “Yes. You know I would,” he’s gritting his teeth, color leeching from those cheeks as he wavers on the mattress. Quinn looks to me with glossy, lost eyes and I shrug.

             “He’s nothing to me. Not now. You already know I’ll get what I want. I always do,” I twirl a finger, dipping to the mattress and kneeling in front of him. His breath rushes out and tickles my cheeks, moving my hair across my skin. “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day…” I mumble.

             “Joker,” he’s panting. Ending. It’s ending. It’s coming to an end.

            “Can you see how funny it is?”

            “No.”

            “Why not?” I ask, suddenly angry that my skin is cold and my playmate so very uncooperative. If only everything were as uncomplicated as my rules. Rule number one; the only way to live, is without rules.

            “Because it’s not funny Joker. None of it is. You’ve never been funny.”

            I don’t think, because let’s be honest, thinking is for fools and whores. I launch myself over Quinn’s limp and naked form and crash into Batman with jarring force. I can hear the snap of his shoulder as it gives out under our combined weight on the handcuff and I feel the cry of pain reverberate through his chest into my stomach. But I’m too busy screaming. The sound of it thrills and excites, drives me higher and higher until I think I might just never breathe normally again because screaming is too much fun. Especially when I get to do it into the ear of Batman beneath me. Batman who’s bleeding for me. Because of me. Going to die for me.

             I shimmy up his chest, using my knees to press forward at the same time as fisting a handful of his hair. It’s black against my skin. Black and white. Night and day. Sanity and Chaos. I am an agent of chaos.

             He struggles against my grip, but can’t get a good enough breath in to gain strength. Not with his arm twisted nearly backwards and half his body still bent over the mattress.

             I grind my mouth against his hard enough to feel his front teeth knock into mine then I jerk him back from me. His gasps of pain are enough to signal the end. I’ve done it. The joke will end. “Does it depress you? To know how alone you really are?”

             He sucks in a breath of air, wheezes out a breath then starts laughing.

 

**Batman**

I’m laughing.

            A whistle of air brushing over blood and bruises, but a laugh nonetheless and I wildly look about the room, blinking into the spotlight, finding Joker peering down at me with an expression of joy on her face. I’ve made her happy. Why doesn’t it bother me? Why don’t I feel anything?

            Because I’m dying.

            “You see it!” she screams, shaking me, running her hands down my face and neck, over my chest. “You see it!”

            “No,” I wheeze, desperately trying to tear away from her brutal mouth but find I’m trapped on all sides and the light is going out. My vision is fading. Like Quinn’s likely did before I killed him. I felt it leave him. And Joker doesn’t even care.

            “Our death will be the greatest joke of all. Think of when they find us three. Like this? The ultimate ménage à trois. The reckoning of two sides of the coin. You and me. Me and you.”

            The rest is in slow motion.

            She sits erect on my stomach, a shiny blade brandished in red lettering. I realize with muted horror that it says ‘Bang’ on it as it comes down in a wide arcing motion towards my chest. I think I feel the point of it prick my breastbone, touch the place where my heart is thundering in terror or abject survival, then the world explodes.

            Not with death, but with bits of rock and glass and the high keening wail of a fire alarm.

            My head moves, but I can’t feel it until I’m looking at the curled mass of green hair from Joker’s head which is motionless on my chest. If I could feel my lower half, I’d imagine the rest of her is draped over me, lifeless as Quinn’s. But she can’t be dead. She’s Joker. I can’t kill what’s always been and always will be.

            “Bruce.”

            I’m blinking. Then retching when I try to roll over and feel the muscles of my torn shoulder scream out in protest.

            “Don’t try to move. Stay still. We’re here.”

            “Here?”

            My voice sounds disembodied. Strange. I try again to see past the green hair and the blinding light and this time, see a pair of light gray eyes peering down at me. A familiar white mustache and cap of abnormally combed hair marks him in his late sixties. Laugh lines and ones from serious lectures span his face. A face I have known since boyhood.

            I’ve died.

            “Bruce,” Alfred repeats, garnering my attention once more. The green hair is gone from my view and with it, I can somehow breathe a bit easier. I want badly to close my eyes. To rest. Why can’t I fucking rest, if I’m dead?

            “Don’t close your eyes. Hold on.”

            “I’m tired,” I grate, teeth clicking together in what feels like shivers. For a beat of silence, my eyes do fall closed, then open again and I realize with some relief, that the spotlight is gone. In its place, is a sedate metal roof with bright white fluorescents.

            “Mr. Wayne, we’re on our way to Gotham Med. We’ll be there soon. Do you understand me?”

            I find the owner of the voice, a small blond with straight teeth and nod. She smiles. “You’re doing great. The police are looking for your attackers now. Just try and stay awake.”

            Like rising from a deep and unwanted sleep, I blink several times and shake my head, “I wasn’t…where is--.”

            A steady weathered hand grasps my arm. Alfred again.

            This isn’t death. I’m alive.

            I made it.

            Relief slams into reality and I struggle with a wave of irrational lava-like tears at the back of my eyes. But I fail to keep them at bay, because I can feel the wet heat of them on my cheeks.  

            “Where is she?”

            Only one person can know what I mean. The little blond, with her pretty idea of a mugging gone wrong can’t know. But Alfred’s eyes are on mine. Soft, warm, and reassuring. Real. He’s real. So is this. Was she? Was any of it?

            He nods slowly. “She’s gone.”

            “Gordon?”

            “He’s taking care of everything. The media is very curious as to the whereabouts of Gotham’s prince and his health after such a terrible attack.”

            An attack would explain much of what had been done to me. Logistically, it will make disappearing from view much easier. But I can’t feel thankful. Not right now.

            I bite down on my tongue to keep from cursing. To keep from screaming out in pain when the ambulance hits a bump. Little bits of myself are returning, the ones that can remember every explicit detail.

            “So, it’s over?”

            Alfred’s gaze sharpens with something I’ve seen rarely but understand. Anger. “For now.”


End file.
